


The Return of the Son of the Deranged Mutant Killer Monster Snow Goons

by beer_good



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Christmas, Comedy, Gen, Horror, Silly, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-12
Updated: 2011-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-04 09:13:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beer_good/pseuds/beer_good
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Christmas in Sunnydale, Angel has been talked down from the hill and awww, isn't all that snow pretty. That can't be a bad thing, can it? I mean, this is Sunnydale, where the supernatural is always helpful and it's not like magical snow instantly covering the entire town could possibly herald the arrival of... FLESH-EATING ZOMBIE SNOWMEN?!?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Title:** The Return of the Son of the Deranged Mutant Killer Monster Snow Goons   
**Author:** Beer Good   
**Rating:** PG13  
**Fandom/timeline:** Buffy, s3: "Amends". Except Dawn is in it.  
**Word Count:** ~1500 (this chapter)  
**Characters:** Buffy, Faith, Joyce, Dawn. Canon pairings and crushes alluded to, but so far not explored.  
**Disclaimer:**: The characters belong to Joss, yada yada.   
**Summary:** It's Christmas in Sunnydale, Angel has been talked down from the hill and awww, isn't all that snow pretty. That can't be a bad thing, can it? I mean, this is Sunnydale, where the supernatural is always helpful and it's not like magical snow instantly covering the entire town could possibly herald the arrival of... FLESH-EATING ZOMBIE SNOWMEN?!?

_Frosty the snowman is a fairy tale, they say  
He was made of snow   
But the children know   
How he came to life one day. _

**Chapter 1: It Came Upon A Morning Clear**

There was a broken neon sign outside Faith's motel window that blinked all through the night, every night. Off, on, off, on, dark, bright, dark, bright. She'd gotten used to it, the way she'd gotten used to the lumpy mattress and that mysterious don't-ask stain in the bathroom.

So this morning, when she drifted up through REM sleep, she was puzzled by the way the light in the room was steady and... warm? Neon isn't warm. And her bed wasn't this comfortable. And there was the distinct feel of someone watching her. Where the hell -

She opened her eyes and found herself face to face with a fat, bearded man, covered in red and grinning insanely.

Santa. A plastic Santa standing on the coffee table. And the light was from the large Christmas tree in the corner. Right. Summers house. Christmas eve. Promised B to stick around and keep an eye on Joyce and the brat. Had nog. Watched cartoons. Promised to stay up until B got back. Fell asleep on the couch. Probably should get up.

She yawned and burrowed deeper into the couch. Yeah. Getting up any minute now. She was just going to lie here on this warm couch in this warm light under this warm quilt until she was fully awake...

She never noticed when she fell asleep again.

She did, however, notice the scream that woke her up about half an hour later.

* * *

 

_"MOOOOM!" _

The gleeful scream jolted Joyce awake, groaning and blinking at the alarm clock. Well, it was technically Christmas day. Why couldn't Dawn get up this early on school days? It wasn't even light outside. She pulled the cover back over her head – the bedroom felt oddly cold – but gave up all thoughts of going back to sleep when she heard the pitter-patter (or rather clompety-clompety) of 12-year-old feet running down the hall at top speed. Dawn crashed inside her bedroom in a flurry of pajama'd limbs and giddy over-excitement. "Mom! Seriously! You'll never believe this!"

"I'm glad you like your presents, sweetheart."

"What?" Dawn lost track for a second, then quickly flipped back to squee mode. "Oh, right. Haven't opened them yet. This is way bigger than -"

"What's going on?" Faith was in the doorway, with a bad case of bed hair but looking ready for a fight if need be. "Something wrong?"

"I don't think so." Joyce stifled a yawn. "What time did Buffy get back?"

"She didn't."

"She's been out all night?" Mother instincts kicking in, Joyce sat up with a concerned look on her face. "Faith, do you know what this is all about? I mean, with Angel and..."

"She said she'd fill me in on everything when she got back." Faith didn't sound too convinced. "I'm sure she's cool. B can take care of herself. Uh... thanks for letting me crash on the couch, by the way."

Dawn, bored with this line of discussion, decided to interfere. "OK, you guys are both completely missing the point."

"Sorry, honey. So what is it you're so excited about?"

Dawn ran over to the window and pulled the curtain. "Ta-daa! It's _snowing_!"

* * *

 

Let's say there's a kid who's grown up in Southern California. Whose only exposure to snow has been TV, movies and that one time they went to see her big sister compete in that stupid ice-skating competition in LA five years ago and Dawn was able to scoop up enough loose ice shavings from the side of the rink to form a decent-sized snowball and throw at Buffy; she missed, but still.

Then let's say she wakes up to an oddly dark Christmas morning and finds the world covered in fresh white virgin snow, and a girl from Boston who's way cooler than her sister and has got to be, like, an expert on snow is eating her sister's breakfast while their mom paces back and forth in worry.

There's really only one way that can end.

Faith hadn't ever built a snowman before, but figured she knew the technique: just make a couple of big-ass snowballs (hold the gravel) and stick them on top of each other. Turned out to be real easy – it was almost like the snowman wanted to be built, even though the snow was completely fresh and really should have been way too loose. Chalk one up for Slayer powers. Plus, it kept Joyce from asking her to go look for B, which might have been ten sorts of awkward, and the kid was having a blast... hell, Faith was too.

After about an hour of hot-cocoa-fueled work, the three women – two of them in winter clothes, one in a miniskirt - stepped back to admire their niveous hominid. He (somehow it looked like a he) stood about six feet tall, with twigs for arms, a broom leaning against his side and a striped scarf around his neck. It was still dark out, so the light from the porch made him sparkle slightly against the grey-black sky. Now all he needed was a face.

"In cartoons they always use coal," Dawn suggested.

"I don't think we have any coal, sweetie."

"Are you sure? I could check Buffy's stocking... Ooo, wait! I've got it!" Dawn turned and ran inside the house.

Joyce watched as Faith did a couple of last-minute adjustments to the snowman. The girl was stomping her feet now and then to keep her circulation going, seemingly without thinking about it. "Are you sure you don't want to borrow a coat? I'm sure Buffy has at least five winter coats she never uses..."

"Nah. I'm used to it. It ain't that cold," Faith shrugged.

"Guess what I've got!" Dawn was back, with a triumphant smile on her face and snowman supplies in her hands: one squeeze-bottle of Heinz ketchup and -

"Is that one of Buffy's stakes? I've asked you to be careful with those things, honey."

"'_A_' stake? Please. This is _the_ stake." Dawn handed over the smooth, oddly shaped wooden stake to Faith. "She calls it Mr Pointy. Would make a, um, wicked nose, don't you think?"

Faith gave it a quick inspection. Good balance, sharp, strong yet light... not bad. "She _named_ her stake? Man. I think I just figured out what I should have gotten her for Christmas."

Joyce did a double take, but Dawn didn't seem to assign any particular meaning to Faith's words. "I know, and _I'm_ supposed to be the childish one, right? Come on, nose him."

And so the snowman stood there in the gently falling snow, his features drawn in red, and a stake of finest Carpathian wood jutting out where his nose should be.

"So, what do we call him?" Joyce asked.

Dawn thought about it. "How about... Beowulf?"

Joyce raised an eyebrow. "Beowulf the snowman?"

"Or... I dunno, Bob?" Dawn blushed the blush of the outed fantasy nerd and didn't look at Faith.

"Hey, I like that," Faith said. "Baywolf. Sounds badass."

"Very well then," Joyce said, picked up a handfull of snow and solemnly spread it over the shoulders of the snowman. "I dub thee Sir Beowulf, First Snowman of Sunnydale."

They looked at it for another minute before Joyce decided that it was cold out and that Dawn needed another cup of cocoa before she got to go out again. "Faith? Would you like one too?"

Faith hesitated. "I dunno, maybe I should get back..."

"Oh, nonsense. At least come in for a while until Buffy gets back, you two barely had time to talk last night."

_What the hell._ "Sure. I'll be right in."

Dawn and Joyce went inside and Faith sat down on the porch, fished a cigarette out of her pocket and lit it. The warm light from the kitchen was falling across the glistening snow, the smell of cocoa and christmas cookies from insidee... This was nice. Like, really nice. A girl could get used to -

_Thumpetty thump thump. _

What was that? She looked up from her thoughts, but didn't see anything out of the ordinary. Well, apart from all the snow and the huge snowman on the lawn and the lack of sun.

Lack of sun. Huh. She checked her watch. Make that wrist; oh right, her watch was still on the coffee table inside -

_Thumpetty thump thump. _

There it was again. What the fuck? She looked up. Nothing there. Just the snowman, who – you know, she could have sworn they built him over by the fence, not right by the porch. What the hell had Joyce put in that cocoa? She leaned over and glanced towards the kitchen window to see if -

_"Braaaaaaaains."_

The voice was like the sound of ice breaking up in spring, coming out of a mouth that was just a gaping hole outlined in blood (_ketchup_) red, with snapping and snarling icicles for teeth. Faith didn't scream, but gave a surprised "Oooomph!" as the massive weight of the snowman fell upon her.

_TBC._


	2. The Return of the Son of the Deranged Mutant Killer Monster Snow Goons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas in Sunnydale, Angel has been talked down from the hill and awww, isn't all that snow pretty. That can't be a bad thing, can it? I mean, this is Sunnydale, where the supernatural is always helpful and it's not like magical snow instantly covering the entire town could possibly herald the arrival of... FLESH-EATING ZOMBIE SNOWMEN?!?

_He'll have a happy face, a happy smile   
A happy point of view!  
If you'll build me a snowman   
Then I'll build one for you!   
\- [Cannibal! The Musical](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HYmnqDjFrKw)_

**Chapter 2: Stalkin' In A Winter Wonderland**

Stupid sky.

Really, what was the point of having your boyfriend... uh, _ex_ saved by magic snowfall if he had to go home afterwards because you couldn't be sure the clouds wouldn't suddenly clear up and fry him on Main Street... and then you were walking home alone and it was _still_ pitch black. And the snow was seeping into your non-winter boots.

Stupid snow.

Plus, y'know, the standard stuff that always came from intense angsty Angel confrontations, which was especially confusing now that they weren't really _together_ in that way even with the dreams and the ambiguity and the tension and the build-up and the lack of something corporeal to slay and... gnnn. Not a productive line of thought when you're heading home to celebrate Christmas with Mom and Dawn and... oh God, Faith would be there too. If she hadn't taken off again. You could never tell with Faith. Why couldn't things just magically work out?

Stupid Santa.

She had to admit, though, that Sunnydale was pretty in the early morning snowfall. Somehow, covered in white fluffyness, the town seemed almost... well, normal. Not Sunnydale normal, normal normal. OK, except for Rapture Eddie on his usual street corner yelling about repenting for this was certainly a sign of the end times bla bla bla, but he said that about everything up to and including poodles with puffy haircuts so who cared. (Though granted, it _was_ weird how many poodles disappeared last year. Giles had suggested there was something supernatural about it, but she had been too busy fighting Spike to investigate.)

No, right now as Buffy made her way back home, she was all about getting in the Christmas spirit, whatever that is. Yup. That and coffee. And dry socks. And breakfast, because of the hungry and nothing else. And... what the _hell_ was that freaky thing in her yard? It looked like a huge snowball trying to ooze up the stairs leading up to the kitchen door... and was that somebody struggling underneath it? She ran the last few steps toward her house and cleared the hedge in one leap – or would have, if not for an especially inconvenient patch of ice under the snow. Buffy went through the hedge in an undignified cloud of snow and shattered frozen leaves, landing in a heap on what used to be a lawn just as Faith managed to kick the snowman off herself.

Beowulf rocked back on his ass (which made up roughly half of him), turned towards Buffy and roared. _"BRRRAAAAINS!"_

"B! In the house!" Faith scrambled for the door and almost fell inside. Buffy ducked under the broom as Beowulf swung it with all his might, which turned out to be considerable, and landed a kick straight in his belly – to no effect whatsoever; a fistful of snow got shaved off, but the snowman showed absolutely no sign of pain or slowing down. Buffy sighed, ducked the broom again, then sprinted up the porch stairs right behind Faith. They slammed the door shut and watched out the window as the snowman tried in vain to follow up the stairs, but failed due to lack of legs. After a few seconds, he seemed to give up and moved out of sight.

"Alright." Buffy turned to the three snowman builders. "What's going on? I can't leave you people alone for ten minutes without something trying to wreck the house? And -" She looked at Faith, who had a  large dark stain forming on her tan jacket. "Are you OK?"

"What?" Faith looked down. "Oh. It's just melted snow. Guess I was too hot for him to handle." She shot Buffy a grin.

Buffy shook her head. "Aaaaand we're back to 'what the hell is going on'. Was that a _snowman_? And was he -"

"Yeah, we built him and now he's alive as he can be," Faith shrugged with a slight shiver. "Shouldn't be difficult to ice him, though. You up for some holiday violence?"

"_You_ built that?"

"They helped."

Dawn and Joyce looked embarrassed, and Dawn tried to change the subject. "How's Angel?"

"He's... we..." Buffy groaned and turned to Faith. "You said something about violence? Let's go."

At which point Joyce intervened. "Faith, you can't go outside soaking wet in this weather. Buffy, would you lend her some of your clothes?"

Both Slayers looked profoundly uncomfortable with the suggestion of dressing alike. "Uh..." Faith got an idea and plunged her (very cold) hand down the back of Buffy's stylish but not very badass coat to check the size tag. "Hey, look at that. B's a tiny little thing. No way these are going to fit me. Too bad. I guess I'll just have to wear whatever I'm wearing and -"

"Hey!" Buffy looked up at her in resentment, then discovered she was indeed looking _up_ at her and didn't pursue the matter further.

"Don't be ridiculous, Faith," Joyce said, "you'll catch your death of cold." She put her hands on the younger Slayer's shoulders and looked at her appraisingly. "Hmmm... what size are you?"

* * *

Five minutes later, Buffy knocked on her bedroom door. "Faith! Are you coming out?"

_"No." _

"Come on! Snow monster on the loose, sacred calling to save the world, hitting things..."

_"Just focus on rounding up weapons, 'kay?" _

"Already got 'em." Buffy shook her bag o' weapons with a clinky clanky sound. "I couldn't find Mr... uh... a good stake, but I figure stakes don't work on snowmen anyway. So just your average hack'n'slash, plus I brought something extra just in case. Now come out already, I promise I won't laugh."

The door swung open and Faith stood there fully dressed. "You're just loving this, aren't you?"

"I swear, I have _no_ idea what you're talking about. You look great." Buffy nodded as she looked at Faith, who looked like she would give anything to be anywhere else and wearing anything but the neon green and pink ski suit that Joyce had last worn when she and Hank went to Telluride in 1986. "So... how about that new Duran Duran album, huh? Those guys are _rad_."

"Don't make me clock you on Christmas. Let's go."

* * *

They had covered half a block with no sign of Beowulf when Buffy broke the silence. "Look... thanks for sticking around and keeping an eye on Mom and Dawn. I really appreciate it."

"No sweat. Your Mom's pretty cool." Faith looked down at her clothes. "All things considered. Plus, if there was some big bad lurking about..." She was quiet for a few seconds, scooped up some snow as they walked along and started shaping it into a ball. "So, what was going on with Angel?"

"It's..." Buffy grimaced. "I-it's just... stuff."

"Right." Faith hurled the snowball at a stop sign. "None of my business."

"No, I didn't mean..." Buffy sighed. Why did things always have to be so complicated? She relented and gave Faith the previously-on. Well, the edited version, minus the funky naked dreams and all that. "...and then voilà, magic snow and Angel was saved."

Faith stopped and held her hands up. "Hold on, let me get this straight. You're saying... Angel thought he'd been brought back to do evil?"

"Uh-huh. He was wrong, though."

"And there was some kinda big nasty trying to make him stick around and do evil?"

"Yeah...?"

"And he was gonna go Sun-Maid Seedless rather than let that happen, when...?" Faith gestured at the falling snow.

Buffy shot her a watch-your-tongue glare. "Is there a point you're getting to?"

Faith shrugged. "Just sayin', I've seen snow before, alright? Yeah, it's white, it's pretty, it's cold, you know what it's usually not? A goddamn _solar eclipse_." She pointed at the dark sky. "If all it took for vamps to walk around in the daytime was two hours of pretty snowfall, there wouldn't be anyone left alive north of Kansas City. Something's going down here, and if whatever wanted Angel evil is behind this, then we could be up shit creek without a snow shovel."

"And you think Angel has something to do with that?"

"I'm just sayin' -"

"Because last time I checked, the only monster I've seen in the past few hours was one _you_ built. And I for one never heard of killer zombie snowmen bringing tidings of comfort and joy."

"OK, first of all, it's _one_ snowman, it was _your_ kid sister's idea, and so far he ain't killed anyone."

* * *

_Thump thump._

"Come on, come on." 

_Thump thump._

Tucker Wells tried to pull himself deeper into his too-thin jacket and stamped his feet to keep warm. "Come on already, do your business. I'm freezing my ass off here." He tugged the leashes of the four tiny hellhounds, who growled and showed absolutely no inclination of giving up sniffing a particularly interesting lamp post (where, unbeknownst to Tucker, Buffy had killed a demon two nighs earlier.)

_Thump thump._

At least there was hardly anybody else around. People were starting to give the growing hellpuppies funny looks whenever he took them for a walk, and he wasn't sure how much longer he'd be able to pass them off as "Patagonian terriers." Not to mention that they were already starting to act like, well, hellhounds when they met someone, and it wouldn't do to have them attack anyone before he could be sure that they were fully grown. He'd even started carrying a baseball bat with him to keep the hounds in line with if they got too... hellacious. Infernal. He was still working on his evil speech.

_Thumpety thump thump._

What _was_ that weird noise, anyway? He looked around and saw nothing but whirling snow. At least the hellhounds seemed to have completed their survey of the lamp post and were ready to move on. In fact, they were starting to really pull on the leash. And whining. Whining? Hellhounds aren't supposed to... He looked behind him, gripping the baseball bat a little firmer just in case. 

And saw nothing but whirling snow. But there was something in the way it whirled. Like it seemed to pull itself together and solidify, being drawn in on a central shape that... oh crap. "Uh... h-hi?" Tucker offered to Beowulf who towered above him, 10 feet tall, and growing with every flake that landed on him. The snowman looked at him, and at the cowering hellhounds. Then it opened its mouth and roared with hunger.

_TBC._


	3. Now I Have A Machine Gun, Ho Ho Ho

**Chapter 3: Now I Have A Machine Gun, Ho Ho Ho**

"Look, what the hell is your problem, B?" The discussion had escalated to the point where Faith had almost forgotten that she was dressed like an extra from a Goldie Hawn movie. "All I'm saying is that if you'd told someone what was going on -"

"I did. I told Giles. Who else was I supposed to tell? Especially considering how you reacted last time you thought Angel might be going bad?"

"So I tried to slay a vampire. I don't know what I was thinking." Faith rolled her eyes. "'Sides, I said I was sorry."

"No you didn't."

Faith paused, rewinding. "...OK, good point. Well, I would have, but -"

"...but you just happened to leave town with a biker or whatever it is you do. And left me to clean up the mess."

"Well, you did kill my… Whatever."

"Miss Post was evil. And trying to kill _both_ of us. I don't get why this is so confusing for you."

"You really have no _idea_ -" Faith raised her voice and then reined herself in. "I just am, OK? Sorry. Can we leave it at that, since I can tell that you're not even gonna listen to anything else?"

"Fine by me. We still need to find your snowman."

Faith rolled her eyes heavenward and started walking again. "So once again, it's _my_ snowman."

Buffy followed, trying to stay one pace ahead so she could look back at Faith. "I'm sorry, now it wasn't you who built it? Well, OK, my mom, and my sister, but you were supposed to -"

"And your stake."

"And my stake." Buffy stopped in front of Faith. "My stake?"

"He needed a nose."

"And you used _my_ stake? You used Mr Pointy?"

"Yeah. So? It's not like we were expecting him to take off with it." Faith crossed her arms over her chest (with some difficulty, since the snow suit made her a little bulkier than usual). "What's the big deal with that stake, anyway? Did it keep you warm on cold nights?"

"It's..." Buffy turned and started walking again, gesturing wildly. "Let's just say that I don't know what's the point of having two Slayers if one of them's just going to go off and nearly get herself killed all the time."

"Woah, I didn't -"

"Also, _ewww._ And this is California, we don't have cold nights. Usually. Not to mention, oh. Blood."

"Blood?" Faith didn't seem to be sure if that was supposed to be a threat, or...

"Blood." Buffy pointed at something up the road and then quickly walked over to investigate. There was, indeed, a patch of festively red blood in the snow. And leading up to and away from it: "Are those the same tracks the snowman left on our lawn?"

"Can't be." Faith regarded the tracks. "No way I built him that big..." She looked up and down the tracks, then picked up a baseball bat that lay abandoned in the snow. She walked a few yards along the track, put the baseball bat across it as a yardstick, then stepped across and walked back with a sigh. "Great. He's growing."

"That's it," Buffy said. "I think we need Giles."

* * *

  
Inside Giles' apartment, a certain Christmas spirit had failed utterly to spread, despite the numerous candles burning everywhere to make up for the lack of natural light, which in turn was caused by the fact that his entire building had been snowed in. After trying and failing to get out through the 15 feet of pure white snow that pressed up against both his door and his windows, Giles had accepted his fate and settled down with a pot of tea and some old books on demonic weather conditions. He had spent the last hour finding absolutely no solid leads at all, and just when he thought Christmas would turn out exactly like any other day of the year, he suddenly heard a faint voice.

"GILES?"

He looked up. Was that...?

"GIIIILES! WAKEY WAKEY!"

"Buffy?" He looked around the dark flat, but obviously the door was still shut tight and he was still alone.

"IN THE KITCHEN, GILES. I THINK."

Giles put the book aside and walked into the kitchen, still puzzled. The kitchen was as empty as -

"GILES! UP HERE!"

Oh. He walked over to the stove and answered her. "What on Earth are you doing in my kitchen fan?"

Buffy's voice was muted since she was currently on the roof yelling into a ventilation shaft. "Merry Christmas to you too. And why don't you have a proper chimney? I pity the Santa who tries to climb down this thing."

"I assure you it's perfectly sufficient three hundred and sixty-four days a year, and given that we're in Sunnydale and the true nature of Santa Claws... I mean, Happy Christmas."

Buffy filled him in on what had been going on. "...which is when I... we decided to come see you. And since we couldn't get in, we had to climb up on your roof. Where did all this snow come from anyway?"

"Oh, uh, Canada."

"Huh?"

"Whoever summoned up the snow didn't just create it out of nowhere. According to the BBC World Service, there's a small town in Northern Canada where they suddenly began experiencing very warm weather this morning, after being snowed in for weeks. It seems their snow was sent here in some way."

"Right. So who's behind it, and how do we stop it? And this better not be some metaphorical buddy-cop thing about how me and Faith have to learn the true meaning of Christmas..."

"Oh no, perish the thought... um... did you say you found a _baseball_ bat?"

"Yeah...?"

"A baseball bat... not a cricket bat. Simply not cricket. Hang on." Giles ran into the living room and quickly returned with one of his many tomes on the occult. "Beowulf, a name from English mythology... a snowman built from Canadian snow... a stake given to you by a Jamaican Slayer... a scarf like the one worn by Tom Baker as the Fourth Doctor... ketchup, a word originating in Malaysia ... a broom, used in the Scottish game of quidditch... and on Christmas, only twelve days after the feast of Saint Lucia... Don't you see? What they all have in common is the British Commonwealth!"

"...Holy deduction, Batman."

"No, really, it fits this rather peculiar prophecy I stumbled across earlier this morning." He quickly thumbed through the old book. "Ah, yes.  
_At midwinter, Albion's empire's memories  
Will bring a frozen beast to the bright ravine.  
The essence of two warriors combined  
Atop the monarch's hill the fiend shall conquer._  
See?"

"Don't those things usually rhyme?"

"Well, um, it rhymes in Gaelic. But it's the only lead I've been able to find."

"But... _why_? Did we piss off the spirit of Queen Victoria or something?"

Giles poked his failed attempt at a Christmas pudding, which was still sitting on his stove as a reminder of American shops' lack of proper food, and uttered a silent curse. "I haven't the foggiest."

"Oh well. So does this mean Angel had nothing to do with it?"

"Hmmm? Oh yes, Angel is Irish, is he not? They're not in the commonwealth, so if my theory is correct..."

"Told ya."

"Anyway," Giles continued, "if I'm right you should find, um, Beowulf on 'the monarch's hill'... wherever that may be."

"I think I have an idea."

* * *

  
"Kingman's Bluff." Buffy pointed up the steep hill, which was now covered in snow and looked like it should be swarming with kids on toboggans. Then she did a couple of jumping jacks to keep warm; it was really getting cold now.

Faith wiped some snow from her face and peered up the hill. "I dunno about you, but I don't see a huge snowman anywhere. You sure there isn't a Prince's Peak or a Count's Cliff or something somewhere?"

"Maybe he's not here yet. I guess we could walk up to the peak and see if we can see anyth-"

_ THUMPETTY THUMP THUMP. _

They had assumed they'd find Beowulf on top of the hill. They hadn't expected him to _be_ the top of the hill. The snowman moved slowly, having grown to ridiculous proportions. The broom looked like a toothpick in one of his arms, which he'd somehow replaced with uprooted trees that he used to pile more snow onto himself.

"He's big." Faith swallowed. "Any chance you got a flamethrower in that bag of yours?"

"Ooooh. Hang on." Buffy quickly took off her mittens, unshouldered her weapons bag and unzipped it. "I brought an old birthday gift.".

"So you're, what, re-gifting now? What -" Faith's jaw dropped when she saw what Buffy pulled out of the bag. "Woah. Is that a fuckin' _bazooka_?"

"Yup. I had a feeling it might be useful."

Faith just stared, looking the weapon up and down with undisguised admiration. "You know, B, I may have been completely wrong about you."

Buffy smiled and lifted the rocket launcher to her shoulder, then flipped the safety switch and took aim. Which was a lot harder than last time, since the snow was once again leaking into her boots, her nose was freezing up and her fingers were going numb from the cold.

Then a soft hand closed over hers, rubbing her knuckles until the blood started flowing again. Buffy shot Faith a curious look and got a smile in return as Faith put up her other hand to steady the shaking barrel of the rocket launcher. They were so close, the mist from their breath hung like a soft fluffy cloud between them. "Essence combined, right?"

"Huh? Oh. The prophecy. Right."

They both held the rocket launcher steady, aiming it at Beowulf's head. "Yo! Wolf-face!" The snowman turned towards them and seemed to cock his head in curiosity, but had no time to do anything else before they both pushed the trigger. A long tongue of fire shot out the back of the bazooka, melting the snow behind them and singeing the grass beneath, and the armour-piercing rocket took flight, heading straight for the giant snow monster. For a fraction of a second, it seemed to almost hang in the air above the cliff

_TBC_


	4. Christmas Number One

**Chapter 4: Christmas Number One**

... and the armour-piercing rocket took flight, heading straight for the giant snow monster. For a fraction of a second, it seemed to almost hang in the air above the cliff, before passing harmlessly straight through the fluffy snowman, having found nothing hard enough to detonate against. It ended up destroying a tree further down the slope (very conveniently, as the tree was currently the home to a cabal of soulless squirrel demons plotting their own apocalypse). Beowulf regarded the two Slayers curiously, then laughed a jolly "HO HO HO", waggled a few tree branches on one of his arms as if to say "naughty naughty" and continued to pack snow onto himself.

They lowered the useless rocket launcher. "You gotta be shittin' me," Faith groaned. "Now what do we do?"

Buffy shrugged, all out of ideas. "Cross the streams...?"

"I hated that movie. I just can't see Bill Murray fighting the undead." Faith shook her head slowly, then suddenly stopped. "But if..." She nodded thoughtfully to herself then glanced at Buffy. She looked back at the snowman and nodded more vigorously as she thought of something. Then she turned to Buffy with a grin that was up to no good. "OK, I'm game if you are. Drop 'em."

"Drop them? Drop _what_?"

Faith had already started unzipping her bright pink clothes as she explained her plan. "...that's about as combined as our essences are gonna get. Come on, B, where's your Christmas spirit? You gotta give a little to get a little. And don't act like you've never done this before."

"But I _haven't_!"

"Sure you haven't." Faith muttered something about about prude Californians. "Don't worry, just follow my lead." She pushed her pants down to her ankles, then smiled and crouched down in front of Buffy. She nearly lost her balance in the deep snow, and held out her hand for support. "Might wanna hold on to me. 'Less you wanna explain to your mom how her pants got stained..."

* * *

  
"I am NEVER going to stop washing my hands!" Buffy said four minutes later as she hurled another snowball at Beowulf. "NEVER."

"Whatever. Just keep hitting him." Faith scooped up another handful of yellow snow from the patch where they'd relieved themselves, formed it into a snowball and threw it with Slayer precision. The snowman had barely noticed the first yellow snowball, then cried out in pain when the second hit and started lurching towards them after the third. Now he careened downhill, gathering speed, as missile after snowy missile slammed into his body. _Thumpettythumpettythumpetty..._

"THROW!"

The two Slayers held their ground, pelting Beowulf with their enhanced projectiles as he barrelled down on them. _Thumpettythump._ In just a few seconds, he was going to be on top of them. The two christmas trees he was using for arms stretched out towards them, and he was so close now that Buffy could glimpse some tinsel still hanging on to one of them. _THUMPETTYTHUMPETTYTHUMPETTY..._ She kept grabbing, squeezing, throwing, grabbing, squeezing, throwing...

And saw the yellow spots on the snowman's belly spread, turning from individual polkadots to a pattern. The tightly packed white snow quickly faded to an ochre sludge, and suddenly his entire midsection caved in. With an agonizing moan, Beowulf, first snowman of Sunnydale, fell apart and disintegrated into an avalanche that slowly ran down the hill and stopped at their feet.

Buffy poked the snowdrift carefully with her boot. "Huh. It worked." Then she quickly walked over to a patch of untouched snow and started cleaning her hands. "I have to admit, that was pretty smart. In an incredibly gross way. Remind me to yell at Giles later."

Faith almost wiped her hands on her pants, then thought better of it and also opted for wiping them in the snow. "I just figured, if he's really British we should be able to gross him out."

"Or piss him off," Buffy grinned.

"I was kinda trying to avoid that one, but yeah."

"So..."

"Yeah." They stood over their vanquished foe, a bit awkward.

"So I should probably be getting back home now."

"Right. You've got a Christmas dinner waiting for ya."

"Yeah." Buffy pulled her mittens back on. "Listen, if – Oh _please_. Enough already."

"What?"

Buffy sighed with resignation. "Behind you."

They both looked around in time to see Beowulf, now returned to his original size, crawl out of the huge snowdrift that had been a 60-foot snowman 5 minutes earlier. After baring his ketchup teeth at them, he skipped up on top of the snow and took off up the hill. "Catch me if you can, eh!"

Buffy tried to plod after it, but quickly gave up and stood there kicking at the knee-deep snow. "Uuuurgh! This is ridiculous! Even if we make it to the top he'll be halfway down the other side already. I hate snow."

"Ahem." Faith tapped her shoulder and pointed to their left.

"What?" Buffy looked, but saw nothing out of the ordinary for a wintry Christmas morning; the snow was glistening under the dark sky, a few dozen yards away a small kid was dragging a sled up the steep hill, and you could hear the faint sound of Christmas music from various directions as people started waking up for real. "What?" Faith just grinned and made a gesture that seemed to say "are you thinking what I'm thinking", which Buffy wasn't sure she wanted to admit that she was. "What?"

Faith shrugged and took matters into her own hands. "Yo! Kid!"

* * *

  
"MOOOOOM!"

Timmy Jones had gotten up this morning and snuck into the garage where he knew his dad kept the big presents. He promised himself he was just going to peek at them, really, maybe just loosen the paper a bit on that big one that was supposed to be for both him and his sister, maybe just rip off a bit and look inside... then before he knew it, he'd opened it completely. Then he'd looked outside. Five minutes later he'd been fully dressed, and despite his mother's strict orders to a) never to go out on his own and b) share equally with his sister, was on his way up the hill with _his_ new present that he wasn't going to share with anyone if he could help it.

Now little Timmy came running into the kitchen, crying, dragging snow all over the place.

"What is it, sweetheart?"

"T-t-two ladies stole my new sled!"

* * *

  
"I can't believe you just did that." They'd reached the peak of Kingman's Bluff. Far below in the valley, they could glimpse Beowulf.

"Relax, he'll get it back. We're just test-driving it for him." Faith didn't sound too put off by Buffy's admonishing tone. In fact, she sounded positively gleeful, like a... well, a kid on Christmas as she put the sled down and got on it. "Get on and hold on."

"At least tell me you've done this before," Buffy grumbled as she climbed on board the sled and tentatively put her arms and legs around Faith.

"Been a while. But how hard can it be?" And they were off, speeding down the hill faster and faster, bouncing and shaking in a way that didn't seem very festive at all.

"Watch _out_!" Buffy yelled in Faith's ear as they just barely missed a tree. "Are you sure you're in control of this thing?!"

"I dunno, are you sure you meant to grab my boobs just now?"

"I – _woah_!" For about a second they were airborne, then came back down with enough force to make them both wince. And they kept picking up speed. "I really hate flying."

"Duck!" They passed under a tree branch with inches to spare.

"There he is! To the right! STEER!"

"I'm tryin'! LEAN!"

"I AM leaning!"

"The other way, for fu- Aw, shit." They sped past Beowulf, who stood there with his hands on his hips and gave them a confused look.

"Turn back! Stop! ROCK!"

They both put out their boots to brake, but too late. The sled slammed into a big rock and sent them both flying in opposite directions. Faith hit the snow face-first and was out cold.

_TBC._


	5. A Slayin' Song Tonight

_Yes Virginia, now Santa Claus is dead  
Some guys from the SWAT team blew a hole in his head   
\- "Weird" Al Yankovic, "The Night Santa Went Crazy"_

**Chapter 5 and epilogue: A Slayin' Song Tonight**

Faith wasn't unconscious for more than a few seconds, but it was long enough to be almost covered by snow. She shivered with cold as she shook her head to clear the cobwebs away, then remembered what she was doing and bounced to her feet – only to gasp in shock as snow poured inside her jacket. The zipper had been ripped apart as she landed in the snow. She turned around to face Beowulf, her teeth chattering with impending hypothermia. He just stood there, smiling, and somehow focused all the falling snow on her.

"Y-you ruined Joyce's jacket! Oh, I'm gonna k-k-kill you a _lot_."

As she let loose on the snowman, she could barely feel her fists. Only a couple of hours ago she'd felt warmer than ever before, and now here came that familiar numb, cold feeling, even worse than Boston streets on winter nights. Whatever. Violence helps. She kept pounding away at the hard snow, but snowmen have neither organs nor nervous systems, and there was no sign that she was hurting him at all. Instead he just kept blasting her with her own personal blizzard. The further the temperature dropped, the icier his body became, and the less pain she felt even though her knuckles were already bleeding.

Then suddenly...

"Ahem." Buffy cleared her throat and tapped the snowman on the shoulder from behind. "Uh, 'scuse me? I don't mean to interrupt, but I think you have something of mine."

The snowman whirled around, lashing out with his broomstick, which Buffy easily ducked as she continued talking. "See, I've realised something." Swing. Duck. "This has been an incredibly silly day," swing, jump, "and I've been trying to be the mature one," swing, dodge, " and not behave like a little kid. And I'm sick of..." swing, parry, "...it. It's Christmas. I should be allowed to be a kid for once." Swing, duck. "So I'm going to start right here." Swing, block. She grabbed the broom, pushing it aside, then reached out and yoinked Mr Pointy from his face. "I've got your nose!"

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" The snowman's howl in anguish (and a slight Canadian accent) was cut short and turned into a choking whimper when Faith grabbed his scarf from behind and yanked. There were icicles hanging from Faith's eyebrows, but gleeful fury burned in her eyes.

"Ready, B?"

"Ready."

Then they both roundhouse-kicked Beowulf's head off his body, Chuck Norris-style.

It rolled a few yards through the snow before coming to a stop, facing upwards just in time to see the clouds part and the sun finally coming out. "I'll be back again somedaaaaay..." he moaned. And then he was nothing but a patch of extra soggy snow with a little ketchup on it.

The two Slayers high-fived each other as if it was the most natural thing in the world, stood face to face for a second, then sat down on the busted sled and watched as the snow started melting.

"You know..." Buffy said eventually. "This is probably the most ridiculous Christmas I've ever had. And the grossest. And the coldest. And the most sexually inappropriate thought-y."

Faith shot her a curious look.

"I mean with _Angel_."

"I didn't say nothing."

"Because... Where was I?"

"I think you were gonna say this is the best Christmas ever."

"Don't be ridiculous. OK," Buffy immediately corrected herself, "I know, I just said this whole day has been ridiculous. Incorporeal evils, suicidal vampires, zombie snowmen, Death Sled Race 2000... I mean," she looked hesitantly at Faith, "you're not serious, are you? About this being your best Christmas ever? I'm sure you'd rather be home or something..."

Faith crossed her arms and nodded a little too confidently. "Well, yeah. Obviously. Goes without sayin'. Still, you know, gotta make the best of a bad situation. And on a whole," she looked up at the bright blue sky, "this didn't suck." She looked at Buffy's hands, fidgeting with Mr Pointy. "So... what _is_ the deal with that stake?"

Buffy shrugged. "I dunno. Someone gave it to me once. She could probably have used it herself. I suppose... Oh what the hell. Merry Christmas." She handed it to Faith.

They sat there for a few minutes, watching the snow melt so fast it almost seemed to vaporize. Then Buffy stood up. "I don't know about you, but I'm starving."

**EPILOGUE**

And so it came to be that there were four people around the Summers' dinner table for Christmas dinner, two of which had enough appetite for another four. Buffy had once again suggested inviting Giles over, and Joyce had once again eagerly declared that she was sure that _Mister_ Giles had plans. Faith grinned at Buffy, who refused to acknowledge that there was anything to grin about. Later on, Dawn insisted that they play Twister, which Faith enjoyed a lot more than Buffy admitted that she did. Joyce sat and watched them, smiling (except when Dawn tried to impress Faith with a few words that she definitely hadn't learned in this household), sipping on a glass of wine, eating chocolate and really not thinking about band candy at all.

* * *

Over at the old Rosenberg place, Xander had joined Willow and Oz for a non-denominational pizza night with optional presents. After talking to Buffy on the phone about the day's events, they had discussed what could be behind it. Oz had felt very strongly that Queen Victoria wasn't involved. He couldn't quite explain it, but somehow she'd become one of his favourite historical people in the past year – it was as if he felt they had something in common that he couldn't quite place. They debated this for a while. Then they watched a double bill of _A Charlie Brown Christmas_ and _Die Hard_ and fell asleep in front of the TV.

* * *

From a window in his mansion, Angel watched the last of the snow melt in a shadowy corner over by the wall. He thought about Christmas miracles, about the redeeming power of love and friendship, about heroes and sacrifices and new births. And most _definitely_ not about that time he and Darla and Spike and Dru ate an entire choir of carolers. That would be bad. Tasty, but bad. Bad. ...He needed to brood.

* * *

Giles was almost done with his rather late Christmas dinner when there was a knock on the door. He went to open and was greeted by an off-key and somewhat slurred rendition of "White Christmas."

"I should have known you were in town," Giles muttered when the song was finished.

"Come on. Is that any way to greet a caroler? Peace on Earth, good will to all men and all that?"

"What do you want?"

"Well, it just so happens that I have two bottles of brandy..." Crash. "Oops. One bottle. And I just thought, well... fuck it, it's been a long, cold day for both of us and we could really do with a night off from the grand ol' good-versus-evil-ancient-order-versus-chaos... thingy. Break out the booze and the vinyl, like the good old days. What do you say, Ripper? Christmas truce? Or do I need to sleep in the stable?"

* * *

Timmy's mother reported the sled theft to the police. Police officer [Carl](http://draconin.livejournal.com/30149.html#cutid1), who knew a little something about Sunnydale, listened to her description of the thief and drew his own conclusions about what sort of "people" dress in 80s clothes in Sunnydale. As far as he was concerned, the kid was lucky to not have any bite marks, and the report was quickly added to the pile of officially unsolvables.

* * *

At Freddie Iverson's place, the editor of the school paper went over the video tapes and photos he'd shot today one last time before mailing them off to CNN, FOX News and Reuters. All except one. Polar temperatures and snowstorms in southern California would probably get a couple of minutes on TV, he'd make a little money on the side and if he played his cards right, there might even be an internship in it for him after graduation. But this one... he looked at the tape he wasn't going to mail out and weighed his options. On the one hand, the Internet just loved this stuff, and there were people out there willing to pay for anything. On the other hand, he liked the idea of not getting his ass kicked by Buffy Summers, not to mention that it was just... what the hell. He sighed and threw the tape in the trash, then went over to his computer and cancelled the registration of www.2girlspeeinthesnow.com.

* * *

And in Tucker Wells' house, poor Tucker sat cold and alone, mourning for his hellhounds who got eaten by a giant snowman. He'd worked so hard at summoning and feeding and training them, and only now did he realise that raising hellhounds to attack the prom was _wrong_. (And also hard.) Which is what he told his brother the next day.

* * *

And that, children, is the true meaning of Christmas.

Food, fun, booze, crass commercialism, and try not to kill people.

END


End file.
